


Do leaders see dreams?

by majorinconvenience



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Characters are in their early teens, Found Family, Gen, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Oma Kokichi Needs a Hug, Orphanage, Pre-Canon, Trust Issues, mentioned death, non-canon backstory, not sure if this is the correct tag, so does everyone in DICE, vent..kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29309430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorinconvenience/pseuds/majorinconvenience
Summary: Now Kokichi has nine subordinates to take care of. Nine faces to put a mask in front of. Nine spectators in his one-man theater, sitting in the front to get a better, closer view of the scene. The more people there are around him, the easier it is for Kokichi to keep his composure.Especially if it’s someone he wants to protect.A good leader never lets his own struggles take over. A good leader never allows himself to be weak. And Ouma is a good leader.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi & DICE
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Do leaders see dreams?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Posting two things in a row, I sure had a writing spree in January! Time to slow down a little...
> 
> Yet another hurt-comfort fic I've decided to post here, this time with DICE! There are a lot of my personal headcanons but I hope they all look reasonable and logical. Besides, I've seen people sharing the same opinions and headcanons here and there, so I believe it's not a big deal! The names I've given to the DICE members are associated with playing card names in different languages, I'm sure it's been done a lot already as well haha
> 
> Well, if you decide to read this, thank you so much!! As always, I'm open to your comments and criticism!

Tiles is used to seeing nightmares.

She has heard kids talking about how much they liked nighttime and never understood them. They’d say that they could dream, fantasize, rest, or just think about insignificant things peacefully in the calming darkness, that the silence always helped them relax after a difficult day, that they found comfort in all of that. To Tiles, it sounded surreal, like those stupid fairytales nurses used to read for them when they were younger. She has never believed anything they said.

Because for her, every night was just inevitable torture.

A pair of kind blue eyes turning bloodshot. Loving hands with rotting skin. Soft chestnut curls becoming grey and spiky. A familiar smile getting distorted so much that it looked foreign. Every single night, Tiles saw her older brother dying, again and again. He was crying for help, screaming, and getting angry at her, and it was awfully tiring. She kept asking him to stop or tried to comfort him, but to no avail. He never left her alone, just as he promised back when he was alive.

The feeling of guilt is the same as the feeling of blood in your mouth when you get punched or fall and hit something. It smells like iron, it’s viscid and heavy, it pours right on your heart until it drowns, and it fills up your lungs until you suffocate. Tiles knows this feeling a little too well. It also appeared every night, each time she woke up. 

She was too young to endure such scary, burdensome feelings by herself. It was an obvious fact. She tried to reach out to the nurses, but they never wanted to listen. Her story wasn’t the easiest to analyze, and she figured none of them were ready to put any effort into that. Just like children don’t choose their parents, orphanages don’t seem to choose their employees. 

The realization that she would _always_ be alone and misunderstood and that her brother wasn’t coming back to take her away from here hit her harder than any bully she had dealt with. The floor disappeared under her feet, and she fell into a bottomless pit with no air or light. She was falling, and falling, and falling, and she was waiting for the moment her back would crash onto the surface, but it never happened. She cried. She gasped for air. She thrashed around in desperate attempts to grab onto something, _anything_. 

It was pointless. 

She can never forget the overwhelming fear that took over her mind and body, and her first panic attack spent alone in the dirty bathroom, and all the others that occurred later, and how lost she felt each time it happened.

Scary, right? Well, if you feel this way every night, it gets monotonous eventually. After a few years, Tiles stopped experiencing such vivid, intense things, which she was very proud of. However, the nightmares never left her alone. Waking up every night with cold sweat and shaking hands wasn’t exactly pleasant. Besides, it slowed down her recovery by reminding her of the emotions and fears she tried so hard to get rid of. It made her cry all the time, despite her desperate efforts not to. 

That is, until she actually became _Tiles_ , the member of DICE. 

She didn’t expect DICE to change her life, so she was wary of them at first. A group of pranksters getting revenge on their bullies and mean nurses wasn’t supposed to offer her any kind of support or comfort, only some entertainment at best. The tallest guy, Shields, scared her with his low mature voice and big, strong hands; she never felt safe around him. Boisterous and straightforward Pikes irritated her with his weird jokes and a weird hairstyle; he reminded her of an onion, and she _hated_ onions. 

Tiles liked the guy named Clovers at first because he had cool pinkish hair, almost as soft as her brother’s, but he sewed her a scary toy out of old dirty cushions, overflowing with ominous, cursed energy, and she changed her mind quickly. Swords was always cold to everyone, pretending to be the smartest in the room. Hearts acted and looked too mature, like a girl in her early twenties, and her voice sounded too melodic as if she was a mermaid. Tiles never trusted mermaids.

Big and round Coins was too friendly with her, and it felt suspicious. So happened with Bells, an outgoing girl with fair twin-tails, who was eager to befriend Tiles from the beginning but never properly explained why. How can you trust someone who doesn’t even know why they want to get closer to you?

Cups was just weird. With his tan skin and golden hair, he looked like a foreign spy. Tiles’s brother used to read her a lot of stories about spies, so she was always cautious around this guy. Finally, even their leader, King, didn’t give her a good first impression. He was too arrogant, too carefree, always talking like an evil villain from the manga and never answering her questions. Tiles regretted joining DICE during her first weeks as a member, regretted the clown masks and weird white costumes Clovers made for them, regretted the first pranks and the first consequences of them.

In other words, she couldn’t imagine something like this would become her new family, that she would see each member as her older brother and sister one day. Or that their lofty, mischievous King would make her nightmares disappear.

It all started with a sleepover at their first HQ – or, to be precise, at a hiding spot in the old garden near the orphanage, where they stargazed until dawn and jokingly shared their secrets and backstories so they didn’t hurt anymore. Tiles barely spoke up but got tired just like everyone else after a little while. Still, no matter how exhausted she was and how quickly she dozed off, she woke up an hour later, barely breathing. King must’ve heard her loud gasp and woke up, too. 

Unlike a few other kids who once happened to notice the poor girl’s struggles, he didn’t ask about what happened in her nightmare, or if it was a nightmare at all. Instead, he covered her with his cape made out of an old curtain and gave her his self-made sketchbook to draw her feelings in. King watched her with curiosity, then suggested playing “draw & guess”. They spent hours drawing together, absorbed by the game; King would make funny comments or crack jokes that lightened up the mood, just like the morning sun eventually lit up the garden. For the first time in a while, Tiles felt at ease. As if she was spending time with her brother again.

It didn’t end at that. King would sneak into her room just right after the nighttime announcement. He taught Tiles a few techniques that could help her mind and body calm down; rocking herself “like a little baby”, which meant slowly swinging from side to side and murmuring a simple lullaby, has become one of her favorite things to do before sleep. King also kept bringing his sketchbook so Tiles could draw instead of talking. It was easier for her to keep silent. She didn’t know how King managed to figure it out so fast. Well, King has always been very smart and attentive.

One day, she drew her brother’s portrait and finally told King about him. It was a big step for her since she never mentioned anything about her family in front of the DICE members. She told King about how fun it was to play games with him, how calming it felt when he braided her long hair. King listened carefully, a small smirk never leaving his face, and gave her a tight, warm hug after she stopped. The next morning, during the DICE meeting – Tiles will never forget it – he asked if he could “try and learn how to do different hairstyles” on her. Now he braids her hair regularly, in the morning or before nighttime. 

Tiles doesn’t remember the exact day, but at some point, she stopped waking up at night. Now she opens her eyes to see her messy braids tangled together and lots of drawings stuffed under her pillow. All thanks to King. 

King isn’t tall and doesn’t have blue eyes. His hair is dark, and his curls aren’t round and smooth. His usual smile is a mischievous smirk or a wide grin. His hands are just as small as Tiles’s. Even so, he becomes her new big brother, and it finally gives her peace of mind. She doesn’t feel alone anymore. She’s found. DICE has become her new family, and she’s proud to be a part of it.

Life in the orphanage doesn’t seem so bad these days.

***

It’s a hot summer night. The air is so sticky and dry that Tiles’s throat hurts. She keeps sneaking out of her room to get water, praying that her light footsteps and careful movements won’t wake anyone up. Their new nurse is especially strict.

She passes a few rooms that are all owned by DICE, hearing how loudly Coins snorts and how Pikes grunts in his sleep like an old fart. A meek smile stretches her chapped lips. She still remembers how they stole a placement list at the beginning of the year to pair all DICE members in the same rooms. Hearts was singing to the guards with her beautiful voice, and Cups was distracting the nurses, faking a seizure. He even stole foundation from one of the older girls to look pale and sick. It was a great plan and a great execution of it. Now they all live together as roommates, like a real family.

Anyways… 

_Huh?_

Tiles stops a few meters away from the kitchen door as she hears weird noises coming from the last room. It’s the one where King and Shields sleep, the girl quickly remembers. Not sure if it’s just her imagination, she creeps towards the door and presses her small body against it, listening as closely as possible.

She hears someone tossing and turning in bed; it’s a very familiar sound for her, so she can’t be mistaken. Someone’s breathing heavily and desperately as if they’re suffocating, and sometimes very quiet, muffled sobs can be heard as well. Tiles feels her heart stop at a sudden realization.

Someone’s having a nightmare in there.

Could it be Shields? He also has some crazy past that he’d rather forget. Tiles bites her lips, thinking. Shields is the biggest boy in DICE after Coins, so he’d make a lot of noise no matter how hard he’d try to cover it. Besides, his voice is one of the lowest among all other boys, and Tiles would recognize it easily. 

More importantly… King would’ve woken up already. He’s always alert, and he’d never miss a chance to help his subordinate. Tiles doesn’t notice how her hand lands on her wide-opened mouth, covering it. 

Is _King_ the one having a nightmare, then?

All thoughts freeze in the girl’s head, leaving a dreadful silence ringing and echoing through it. She feels like she’s discovered something huge, but it’s so questionable and weird that she doesn’t want to believe it at first. How could King – the bravest, the smartest, the funniest, and the cockiest guy in this whole orphanage – struggle just like her, a small, weak, and timid girl? How long has it been going on with him? Could it be a one-time thing?

She remembers all of their hangouts and sleepovers. Has King ever spoken up about what happened to him? Has he ever mentioned any of his struggles? She always thought it was natural for a leader to never talk about it, to be the sanest yet the most understanding person in the group. Now that she hears these awful sounds of a quiet, lonely struggle, and remembers everything she used to feel before…

King helped her, and now she’s going to help him.

Never in her life has Tiles felt so determined and brave. She forgets about the thirst and her sore throat in an instant. The heat, the night, the silence – nothing matters anymore, nothing but her King being tortured by his inner demons. Her little hand lands carefully on the door handle. She’s going to come in, to give him a warm hug, to talk to him about it, and it’s going to be great–

“My, what am I seeing? Are you peeking into the boys’ room?”

Uh oh. She got caught.

A strong hand grabs Tiles by the collar of her pajamas and drags her away from the door. She feels a familiar scent of a terrible perfume filling the hot air; it’s getting nearly impossible to breathe.

The nurse pushes the girl towards her room, grimacing so hard that her face looks worse than Pikes’s mask. Such an irritating woman. Tiles reminds herself to talk to the others about pranking her in the worst way possible sometime later. 

She doesn’t listen to what the nurse lady is lecturing her about. Years in the orphanage, as well as the DICE members, taught her how to block all kinds of unnecessary noises or idiotic blather. The only thing she can think about right now is King being in serious trouble while she’s getting scolded. What a letdown, really! She hopes that Shields wakes up to help him out instead of her, and these thoughts ease her a little bit.

“…And if I ever see you wandering around at such a late hour, I’ll put you in detention and make you wash all bathrooms. Understood?” 

Ah. The lecture seems to be over. Tiles breathes out a heedless _“sorry”_ and runs back to her room, away from the awful perfume and the ugly face. She sees Bells waiting for her right at the door, worryingly playing with her fair hair. In this dark-blue light, without the ponytails and the mask covering her eyes, she looks way less cheerful than usual, more like a scared child.

“What were you doing out there all alone?” she whispers when their eyes meet. Tiles can’t help but avert hers.

“It’s not that important,” she mutters, shutting the door behind her. “Bells, I think our King might be having a problem that he doesn’t tell us about.”

Her roommate cocks her head in question. “What kind of?”

The feeling of determination is still fresh, overflowing Tiles’s body with unusual energy. She gathers all her courage and glares back at Bells, trying to make the most concerned face possible, and Bells tenses up immediately, changing her expression as well.

“King might be having nightmares. We need to ask Shields about it in the morning. And discuss with everyone how we can help him.”

“Nightmares?” the blonde girl raises her eyebrows. “Well, everyone sees nightmares sometimes. I know you had a special case, but that doesn’t mean King is struggling just as much…”

She isn’t wrong. Almost everyone in this awful place is traumatized in one way or another. Waking up with a short scream or a panic attack every once in a while is a common thing among the orphans. Still, Tiles got a hunch – or a gut feeling, or a premonition, or whatever else those psychics in books and movies usually have. The sounds she heard sent shivers down her spine. The fact that King tried hard to muffle them made her chest hurt. The memories of King helping her, how quickly he picked up on what was happening, how much he understood and knew without her explaining it… It all makes perfect sense now. 

Tiles can’t ignore her older brother. She doesn’t want him to suffer like her real one.

“Please, Bells, just believe me,” she mumbles, locking her eyes on Bells’s concerned face. “He rarely talks about himself anyway. Don’t you think he’s a bit lonely?”

“Lonely…”

The girls get quiet. A picture of their leader, sitting alone on his bed, shaking and hugging his knees, commanding himself to be well for the sake of the others, appears in Tiles’s head like another drawing in King’s sketchbook. It’s a little crazy how she’s never pictured him weak and vulnerable before but does it so easily now. She glances at her roommate and sees a similar realization in her big kind eyes. They’re probably thinking the same.

“You may be right,” Bells mumbles after a while. “He never talks about himself. He’s never asked us for help with anything outside of pranks. He…”

“He’s never told us what happened to his family,” Tiles finishes with a heavy, shaky breath. Another pause freezes the hot blue air. 

Bells moves towards her bed, jumps on it, and hugs the teddy bear that Clovers sewed for her birthday, resting her head between his uneven ears. Her lips are pursed together and her gaze is hazy; she looks like she’s deep in thought. Tiles knows that, when Bells is deep in thought, it means she’s going to come up with a fun plan for whatever problem they’re facing, so she patiently waits until her friend processes the ideas.

Suddenly, they hear someone else’s footsteps approaching the door. Must be the Lady Perfume from earlier. She loves peeking into everyone’s rooms at night and scolding the children who stay up late, no matter the reason. Even if the orphan starts crying or wakes up from a nightmare, she won’t care in the slightest. Tiles often wishes she dies in her sleep but remembers her brother and smothers such thoughts.

She dives into her bed, right under the blanket, and makes sure to take the most realistic sleeping pose ever possible. To her relief, the nurse passes their room, and her heavy footsteps fade into the soft silence of the night, leaving the girls alone again. 

Tiles throws the blanket away, already feeling hot, and turns around to find her roommate. Bells sits up, still hugging the bear; when they lock eyes with each other, she squeezes out a worried smile. 

“I know what we can try,” her whisper sounds husky, as dry as the heat. “But before we gather everyone else, I want you to tell me what kind of advice King gave you back then.”

Tiles doesn’t like talking about her past struggles, but she’s ready to break the barriers if it helps her new brother get better. She takes out the drawings from under her pillow, gets up, and moves to Bells’s bed, sitting down next to her. As soon as her gaze drops on the old sketches and doodles, memories come pouring into her head like heavy rain, and something tiny but sharp pricks her worried heart.

They need to help King. They need to make him feel loved and cared for. She takes a deep breath, trying to exhale the sudden anxiety filling up her lungs, and starts talking.

“Okay. Listen closely, then.”

***

Kokichi is used to seeing nightmares. 

Waking up almost every night, drenched in sweat and tears, has become a part of his sleeping routine. He _totally_ doesn’t mind the headaches, the racing heart, the never-ending tiredness in his body, the chaos and mayhem in his mind. Those are just petty minor inconveniences he has to deal with daily, nothing more. The heaviness of his eyelids doesn’t bother him at all. His own screams, desperate and terrified, bore him to death. 

But that might be a lie.

And he hates it so much.

Feelings and emotions are so useless when they’re not under his full control. His body always betrays him. Kokichi feels like he can’t trust himself at all, feels weak against his own head and thoughts, and it’s irritating. _Gosh, it’s troubling._ He’s a Supreme Leader of an evil organization, not some emotional punchbag for older and stronger kids. He can’t be this way anymore.

When his lonely heart aches and begs for help, or his hand twitches, ready to reach out to someone, or his eyes get watery on their own, he despises this helplessness stuck inside of him. It pulls and drags him down into a bottomless pit with no air or light; it feels like he’s falling, and falling, and falling, and he tries hard to grab onto anything before his back crashes onto the surface but never succeeds. He always crashes. He always loses control, deep inside.

Good thing that now he has nine subordinates to take care of. Nine faces to put a mask in front of. Nine spectators in his one-man theater, sitting in the front to get a better, closer view of the scene. The more people there are around him, the easier it is for Kokichi to keep his composure. 

Especially if it’s someone he wants to protect. 

A good leader never lets his own struggles take over. A good leader never allows himself to be weak. And Ouma _is_ a good leader. 

That’s what he tells himself all the time, and it eases the pain, but never erases the open wounds that are still bleeding. He might be so warm because there’s much more blood running through his veins than any human being needs to exist. See? A funny joke. It’s funny and stupid. It’s nothing important. 

…However, he lets himself embrace it just this once. 

Apparently, Coins and Clovers called Shields to play games with them. Shields said he was going to stay the night in their room, and even though Kokichi can’t imagine how these giants would all fit in such a tight space, he doesn’t give it too much thought and lets his roommate go. His heart begs Shields to stay; sometimes the sounds of him tossing and turning, snoring or mumbling something in his sleep become Ouma’s last resort, the only connection to a quickly disappearing reality. Because of the other boy, he has to muffle and stop himself – he has no other choice but to keep his emotions under control, and it helps him a lot.

But now that there’s no one else in this room, what is he going to do?

Well, there’s no challenge a Supreme Leader can’t win. He just has to survive a single night, nothing critical.

He does everything to keep himself awake for as long as possible. He fills every page of his sketchbook with doodles, writes a few fake “secret admirer” notes to put in his classmates’ bags later at school, cuts the edges of his cape to make it look more menacing, comes up with fifteen new prank ideas for everyone in this godforsaken orphanage, including their new nurse. He thinks of hundreds of offensive nicknames for her as well, just to irritate her during the day. Kokichi does so much that he’s fascinated by it. 

At the same time, he tries to ignore his vision getting blurry and his thoughts turning into white noise. When his arms and legs become too heavy to move around, he crawls into his bed and starts playing with an old Tamagotchi he stole from an upperclassman. He yawns again and again; for some reason, the game’s soundtrack sounds more like a lullaby, and he fails every task, often pressing the wrong buttons. His eyes tear away from the screen for just a second to check the time.

It’s still 2 am, even though he could swear he thought it was around 4.

Tamagotchi feels boring. The sketchbook is full. New prank ideas won’t come to mind. Kokichi wishes he could talk to Shields about something stupid, but Shields isn’t there. A strange, numbing weakness flows through his body like a gentle but powerful tsunami, and he falls on his back, helpless, staring at the dark ceiling full of cracks and stains.

Before he knows it, the tears come pouring out of his eyes as if someone turned on a faucet inside of him. He doesn’t feel sad, he doesn’t sob or whine, and his face stays emotionless. Still, the tears keep pouring. In strong, never-stopping streams. Down his cheeks, down his neck, on the messy sheets and the purple-dyed locks of his. Kokichi wipes them off angrily. They appear again.

He doesn’t feel anything, why is he crying?

_Seriously, why is he crying._

His body moves on its own. His mind is completely disconnected from it. He curls up on his bed. He hugs his knees. Presses them hard against his suddenly burning chest. He cries more, harder, louder, now weeping and grimacing, and the room is too dark and the walls are too close and the ceiling is falling down. 

Why is he crying? What is he thinking?

He wishes he knew.

It’s not the memories that he blocked a long time ago, it’s not grief or resentment, it’s not exactly pain, even. Instead, it’s something heavy that’s hidden inside of his chest, right where the heart is supposed to be, and it sends shivers down his weak body with its every beat. It’s eager to tear him apart, only to reveal a huge, empty hole gaping in its place, and it’s so cold that it’s burning, setting his lungs on fire.

He’s so lonely. There really is no one around. He’s alone, and he always will be.

Kokichi takes a deep breath that turns out quite shaky and grabs his shirt, right where this disgusting thing is hurting him. He wants to take it out and throw it away, or maybe at someone, like in the nurse’s face; he’s mad at his lonely heart and at himself and at the whole world and,

And, 

He hears the door crack.

A string of dim light cuts the darkness in a half and reaches Kokichi’s curled up body; the leader nearly yelps, catching it on his shaking hand. His eyes drift to the source of light and see a group of children peeking from behind the door with worried gazes glowing in the black hallway. They look like a scared bundle of kittens watching their mom doing something dangerous.

Their faces are easily recognizable even in this poor lighting: Shields, Clovers, Coins, Bells, Hearts, Tails, Swords, Pikes, Cups. 

Craps. Damns. 

Senses come back to Ouma in an instant. He wakes up from whatever trans he was having, flinches, lets go of his legs, straightens his back. His face looks messy, red and swollen, and he doesn’t have enough time to grab a mask from the nightstand or wipe his tears off. The unfamiliar feelings he was pouring out just now get sucked back inside his hurting chest, all bottled up again. 

Meanwhile, one after another, his followers creep into the room quietly and cautiously, eyes still locked on their leader. The room feels tight but spacious, fitting everyone inside surprisingly easily.

Kokichi swallows the lump in his throat. Hopefully, his voice won’t give him away. He squeezes out his signature grin, trying hard to look confident and unbothered, but the wet skin on his face feels too heavy to lift. 

“Walking into the leader’s room without permission. The audacity!” he pushes out a hoarse laugh. His muscles are still numb, and his movements are slow. “Did something happen, or did you all just miss me that much?”

He expects Bells or Shields to step forward and speak up like they always do in sudden situations. However, the one who actually takes the lead this time is Tiles.

This petite girl marches towards her King with a determined, serious expression on her always timid face. A messy braid swings from side to side with each lightly bouncing step she takes; Kokichi doesn’t remember helping her with it today. His heart skips a beat, and it becomes dangerously difficult to blink away a new stream of tears. The leader quickly fakes a yawn, just in case.

“What is it, Tiles? Did Clovers make you a scary toy again?”

Despite his desperate attempts to sound cheerful as usual, Tiles’s face doesn’t change in the slightest. It feels like she can see right through his poorly crafted mask with such a piercing glare. 

“You’ve been having nightmares all this time, haven’t you?”

_Oh._ So that’s the talk they want to have with him. Kokichi winces on his bed. 

“Of course not!” It’s impossible to hide his genuine surprise, so he exaggerates it, letting out a very dramatic, obviously fake gasp. “Why did you assume such a thing? Leaders don’t see any dreams, Tiles.”

Tiles won’t even blink. “They do,” she utters. “You don’t have to hide from us, King.”

This situation is getting out of hand. Ouma senses nine pairs of eyes staring at him – with worry, fear, sympathy, _care_ – but can’t raise his own to meet any of them. It’s not exactly his usual audience, it’s more like a meeting backstage, the staff checking up on him while he takes his makeup off. He’s starting to feel vulnerable and exposed, and that’s the worst he can be in front of his subordinates.

The pause lasts a little too long. It’s rare that Kokichi has nothing to say in his defense. Bells and Hearts join Tiles, coming closer to his bed. They’re going to seize him soon, ugh.

“It’s true, King,” Bells breathes out; she sounds much quieter than usual. “We know you probably struggle a lot on your own but never dare to approach us.”

“You helped all of us with so many things,” Hearts chimes in and gives Kokichi one of her charming smiles. “A good leader always takes care of their followers, but sometimes the followers should take care of their leader, too.”

Each word echoes in Ouma’s empty heart, revives it, and opens its wounds again. He feels this disgusting, suspicious pain in his chest that usually appears when he’s afraid of getting betrayed or saying too much. His forehead starts burning from sweat.

Stop it. Don’t say anything else, please. 

“That’s right!” Pikes jumps towards his leader, stretching his lips in a wide grin. “We all came here to take care of ya! Don’t even try to run away!”

If only Pikes knew how eager his leader was to run away right now.

The room starts losing its shape and everyone around Kokichi becomes a blurry silhouette. There’s a weird hum in his head that muffles all other sounds. 

“I sewed you a toy cat, King!” Clovers’s voice breaks through it, and one of the silhouettes moves closer, holding a black-and-white object. “You said you liked cats a lot, so I thought you could hug one in your sleep.”

Stop it, _just leave already!_ All this care makes Ouma’s body shiver and lose control again.

“I lied,” he blurts out. “I like dogs more.”

He’s politely ignored, and the toy ends up in his hands anyway. It’s nothing like Clovers has ever done before: made out of a soft material, sewed properly and carefully, _has a nice smell,_ even. Some weird instinct tells Kokichi to press the toy to his aching chest, and he almost fails to resist it.

Stop caring about him! Why are they doing that? What do they want to get out of this?

As his vision gets clearer, he sees Shields, Swords, Cups, and Coins step forward like everyone else. They all form a wall around their King’s bed, and wherever he looks, he sees a thoughtful gaze aimed at him like a gunpoint. 

Kokichi is their leader, right? He can easily tell them to go away, get rude and cocky, scare them off like he always does during inconvenient situations with other people. He’s a dickish dictator, an evil overlord, the most hated and annoying boy in his class. He should have no problem commanding his subordinates to retreat and never bring this up again.

But his stupid naïve heart begs them to stay. His hands crave reaching out to them. His mind goes blank, and he can’t even come up with a proper order to shout out.

Ew, he’s so mushy. Did they poison his dinner or something? He should’ve known. He wasn’t that hungry today anyway.

“We’ve been paying close attention to you for the last seven days,” Swords announces calmly and confidently as if he’s presenting a scientific project. “Shields has noticed dark circles under your eyes. I’ve noticed how much you avoided telling us the truth about your feelings. Coins has noticed how often you exaggerated your emotions, and Hearts interpreted that as a sign of you having something to hide. That’s why we’ve decided to address the issue.”

Alright, this is just too much.

Cold sweat wets Kokichi’s back. He’s being read like a dumb comic book. He’s being exposed _by_ his followers _in front of_ his followers, right in his face; he’s being studied, examined, observed, and it’s scary. He feels like he was pushed off his bed towards the same dark pit he always falls into, and now he’s falling again, waiting for the moment he hits the surface.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way today. He’s wasted his whole sketchbook for it.

Before another member of DICE starts talking, he clears his throat and erases the defensive smirk from his face.

“Okay, guys, that’s enough.”

The way everyone’s expressions drop makes his heart drop, too.

“King?...” 

“I know you’re worried about me.” Kokichi gets up from the bed, and it breaks the circle his subordinates formed. “It’s very sweet. I’m touched. But I don’t need your analysis, or your offerings, or your pity.”

Tiles’s small hand grabs him by the wrist, desperately and firmly.

“If you’re calling it pity, then were you pitying me, too?”

Kokichi freezes. He can’t look her in the eyes. The warmth of her little fingers burns his oddly cold skin.

“We’re different, Tiles,” he mumbles. “There are people who don’t need anyone else’s help, you know? By doing all of this, you’re only making me feel worse.”

Tiles won’t let go; instead, she starts pulling on his sleeve like a kid demanding a bedtime story. “How come? What makes you so different from us? Why don’t you just accept our help?”

“Because he’s afraid of being weak in front of us, duh,” Swords explains with a disappointed sigh. 

“Afraid? Why would _I_ be afraid of anything?” shouts Ouma defensively. “You better be afraid of the Lady Nurse who’s gonna whoop your asses for breaking into my room, and I won’t cover for you this time!”

He sees Cups brushing his tan fingers through his golden hair. “Ah, that… We took care of her. I faked another seizure and stole sleeping pills from the medical office. Long story short, she won’t wake up until the very morning.”

Wow, they went through so much trouble to intimidate their leader and try to make him get vulnerable. Kokichi claps his hands with a bitter smile.

“Fascinating. You’re getting better at strategies.”

In the corner of his eye, he notices how Bells whispers something into Coins’s ear. The latter nods very enthusiastically, then fixes his gaze on Kokichi. _What now._

“Hey, King,” Coins’s voice is loud but relaxed, always giving him a calm friendly attitude. “We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to put you under pressure.”

Bells catches up, too. “We’re not as good at comforting each other yet! You probably didn’t get us at all.”

“I got you pretty clear, I think,” Ouma objects. “You want me to…”

He stops mid-sentence, his mouth still open. _What do they want, again?_

To ask him countless personal questions he doesn’t want to answer? To force him to open up? To make him ugly cry in front of them? None of the answers his panicked brain came up with seem to be right. Kokichi quickly looks around; everyone glares at him with worried anticipation, no masks or fake smiles. 

What do they really want, then? The answer is so simple and obvious that Kokichi can’t bring himself to believe it.

Hearts gently puts her elegant hand on his shaking shoulder, snapping him out of it. The touch is surprisingly calming; like a spell, it eases the leader’s growing anxiety and hostility in a flinch. 

“See? You got it all wrong, King. We don’t want to pressure you. We don’t expect anything from you either. We simply want to comfort you. You surely need this right now, don’t you?”

“Just comfort?”

_Comfort._ This word makes Kokichi’s heart bounce in his chest even crazier, giving him so much pain that he’s starting to get used to it. _Of course, hell yes_ he wants comfort. He can’t remember the last time he received any support or human affection, not to mention all times he pushed others away like now when they attempted to give it to him. He could never just straightforwardly ask for it, too.

This begins to sound less like pity and more like an insignificant help offer that will probably have a great impact on Ouma, to which he will never admit. Hearts’s dark narrow eyes are staring at him so tenderly, so caringly… 

Should he just try to give these kids a chance? Would they leave him if they saw him like this, asking for help and being weak?

His paranoid mind screams to stop, to throw everyone out of the room. His heart begs and cries for affection. He’s torn between two very polar sides of his, and he doesn’t know which one he should trust. He can never trust himself.

Tiles lightly touches his fingers. “King,” she whispers, “you’re not alone anymore. We’re not just your followers, we’re your _friends_. You taught me to treat DICE like a family, so why don’t you do the same yourself?”

First “comfort”, now “family”. A bitter laugh escapes Kokichi’s pale lips. What is a family, really? Where does it begin and where does it end? Who can be his family and how much should he trust them? Most of his subordinates have a general idea of what a family could be, each one imagines their own perfect concept. Kokichi doesn’t know if he can come up with any.

However, if he ever happened to dream of a new, perfect family for himself, with all rules and relationships set by him, the one where he would feel safe and comfortable no matter what… There’s no point in lying.

He would probably imagine DICE.

All he can do is nod, and it’s enough for others to understand. Coins rushes towards him, shaking the floor with his heavy steps. A goofy smile decorates his round face. 

“Come on everyone, let’s give our King a big hug!” he exclaims, followed by approving hums and chuckles. “When was the last time we hugged him? Let’s make sure he’s squeezed properly!”

Before Kokichi can react, laughing nervously, his subordinates jump towards him with their arms stretched out, and the purple-haired boy ends up in a very tight, loving embrace. 

Despite the summer heat, he feels so warm and relaxed as if he just came home from the top of the Fuji mountain. Everyone’s arms gently brush against his pajama shirt, his hair, his arms and shoulders, and it’s surprisingly comforting. He hears how Bells laughs like she’s having the time of her life, how Shields praises him for being strong for them, how Pikes won’t stop screaming _“I’m gonna suffocate!”_ , how even Swords lets out a modest chortle. All of these disharmonious, loud voices sound way better than any song Kokichi likes. 

Tiles, being the shortest of them, rises on tiptoe to match her leader’s height. 

“We love you, King!” she screams happily, and it’s the first time ever Ouma hears her raise her voice like that. 

“Yes, we love you so much!” Shields catches up. 

“We love you, leader! You’re the best!” Clovers laughs. 

One after another, then all at once, the kids repeat these words until it becomes a looping chant. Wherever Kokichi looks, wherever he turns, he’s met with a grateful smile. It feels like a joyful dream; if he told his past-self he’d end up in this situation, the younger Ouma definitely wouldn’t believe him.

His eyes get watery again, and tears begin to stream down his smiling face. He lets them pour. 

“Thank you.” His voice falters and disappears, so all he can do is whisper breathily. Hearts notices him crying and carefully wipes his tears, chuckling.

“It’s nothing,” she sighs. “You deserve this, King.”

Kokichi decides to believe he does.

Eventually, the voices and laughter get quieter and melt in the hot air. The hug loosens, giving Kokichi space, and after a while, he ends up on his bed again, fiddling with the toy cat Clovers gave him, surrounded by his loyal followers. Tiles and Bells are messing with his hair, putting it in buns and short ponytails. Pikes and Shields are reading his prank plans out loud, cackling. Hearts and Cups are telling him about how they managed to neutralize the nurse. It’s finally peaceful in his room.

“By the way!” Bells lets go of her leader’s hair and sits down next to him. “Have you guessed who initiated this yet?”

Kokichi raises his eyebrows, replaying this night in his head. It’s not that hard to guess. He might know the answer, but there’s no point in saying it without messing around first.

“Shields, of course!” he curves his lips in his usual mischievous smirk. “He’s my second-in-command, after all.”

He hears Tiles gasp loudly. Bells’s snort tickles his cheek.

“You think? This giant sleeps too soundly to hear his own snoring!” she giggles. Shields grunts from the other side of the room. 

It feels so much like a family.

Kokichi turns around to meet eyes with Tiles, and the girl timidly lowers her gaze. A mild, pleasant feeling of pride fills the leader’s heart. He remembers how distant and hostile Tiles was when they just started, how much she used to struggle with her confidence and relationships with others. She surely has changed a lot, and even though he believes he hasn’t done much, his heart melts at this realization. 

As it melts, it fills the gaping hole in his chest with delight he’s never felt before. For a moment, he wants to grab at his shirt and check if the hole finally disappeared; a strange sensation of being _complete_ overtakes him, and it’s so thrilling and joyful as if he just watched himself being reborn again, with all this holy light and rainbows and beautiful music like in cartoons. He feels weirdly energetic. Strangely alive. Like a decent human being.

Is this how everyone usually feels like? If so, Kokichi is jealous of them.

When this sudden euphoria comes to an end, he reaches out to Tiles with a brotherly pat on her small shoulder. The little girl winces but raises her eyes and squeezes out a meek smile.

“I-I didn’t do much,” she mumbles. “I just wanted to return the favor.”

“You didn’t have to,” Ouma breathes out, his voice oddly soft from all of these happy emotions he’s feeling. “Thank you, Tiles. You helped your leader a lot.”

The way Tiles’s lips stretch wider and her smile gets more and more excited makes the leader lose his breath, smiling back.

“You can always ask us for help, King. We’re your family.”

She pulls him into another hug, earning a cheer from Bells, and Kokichi gladly melts in it.

They both finally feel found and safe in their new family, DICE. 


End file.
